


Business As Unusual

by Original_Cypher



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, OR IS IT, bad flirt rescue, meet cute, mentions of others - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/Original_Cypher
Summary: Special Thursdays are usually once a month, sometimes a bit less often, depending on availability. They're evenings when Happy Hour lasts until close, the kitchen doesn't stop before 1am and, best of all, it's game night.Tonight doesn't go down exactly as usual.





	Business As Unusual

**Author's Note:**

  * For [possiblywonderful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/possiblywonderful/gifts).



> I'm often at a loss on how to make friends feel better. I offered to write something with a pairing and a prompt of her choice. This is what happened.
> 
> I hope you like it. All the love,  
> A

Stiles loves the Special Thursday nights at Danny's. 

 

Well, okay. Students call the bar Danny's because Danny works here, it's not actually called that. It could be though, given that his family owns the chain of seven bars across town and it seemed obvious to get a job right by campus to finance his life while at university. Stiles is sure that if Danny pulled some strings, they'd let him rename this place officially. 

 

Special Thursdays are usually once a month, sometimes a bit less often, depending on availability. They're evenings when Happy Hour lasts until close, the kitchen doesn't stop before 1am and, best of all, it's  _ game night.  _ Jocks and book nerds and history geeks and art majors and no-major-just-stoned all join in in a somewhat moderately drunk mass, gathered around tables pushed together in several role playing games all over the floor. Some games last for several hours, hence the need for constant refreshments and replenishment. Sometimes, one long game is organised for the whole attendance at once, with characters and a scenario planned in advance. But those take a lot of fore planning so the narrators (Stiles, Danny, Erica, Isaac, Allison, Lydia (Lydia has been forcefully banned from the pool of players and compelled to become a game master because she kept winning and talking the narrators in circles)) only do it every couple of months. Those Special Special Thursdays have had record attendance. It's humbling and exciting. 

 

How did all this happen, you ask? Well. Stiles can tell you. Not only had he been here from the beginning, but he was also part of the ones that started it. 

 

See, on his first year, he joined the team of students organising to be the welcome wagon to the prospective freshmen for the next academic year. As one way of entertaining newcomers and making it easier to get to know people, they introduced Werewolves Of Millers Hollow as a role playing game. Simple premise. Easy to learn and participate in. Allows for endless fun. And to everyone's absolute surprise, it caught _on._ Not that Stiles ever doubted the entertainment value of the game, but he'd always figured that most of his fellow students were way _too cool_ for RPGs. Turns out, not when they think they've totally rediscovered them and they're such geniuses. 

 

A year and a half down the line, regular game nights are happening, with Stiles and more friends as featured star narrators. Stiles could not be prouder. He's still trying to work out how much of a marketing genius that makes him into his post grad admission essay. 

 

Except. Tonight. There's a loser. Well. He hasn't lost anything yet. But if he keeps bugging Stiles any longer he might either lose some dignity or some teeth. He's still deciding on that one. If he touches Stiles again, it's definitely the teeth. 

 

“Come on, baby. Let me buy you a drink.”

 

“No, thank you.” He's always been very appalled and confused by that way some men have (towards male or female potential conquests) to spend  _ minutes _ at a time trying to buy their intended pick up a drink, or arguing the point that they should be allowed to, instead of simply talking to the person and having the opportunity to showcase something - anything - about themselves besides the fact that they can afford one more drink. In this case, it's been going on for nine whole minutes. Stiles has timed it. Ostensibly. “Again.”

 

“Why. You have a boyfriend? That's alright. He doesn't have to know.”

 

No, jerkface. Whether or not you get to spend time with me does not depend on whether I'm spoken for or not but whether I allow it based on whether I want you to. “No. Because I have a drink. And I'm not interested.” Even if wasn't the stubborn kind of shit that refuses to give in just to make people shut up and walk away after, he refuses to chance a ‘I bought you a drink, you owe me’ type of argument afterwards. 

 

“But that's cause you won't let me talk to you. Let me buy you a drink and you'll see”. And here we are. Back at the beginning of the cycle. 

 

“Actually. It's all I've done. Letting you talk to me. Ad nauseum.” And you didn't use the opportunity at all. “And that's how I know I  _ am not  _ interested. Bye now.”

 

“Sweetheart…” There is a hand on his thigh. 

 

He jerks his leg away violently, not remotely trying to be subtle. “Bye. Now,” he enunciates coolly. 

 

Across the room, he can see Lydia has spotted that something unpleasant us happening. She's trapped with her table of players, and she can only frown at him worriedly. He blinks peacefully back at her, nodding faintly. Guy's a massive pain, but he's no danger. 

 

Jerkface is about to speak again when a body collides with Stiles’ back, startling them both. Whoever just wrapped him in a half a second hug quickly backs off Stiles’ personal space safe for a hand on his arm and wide blue eyes. 

 

“Stiles! There you are!” says a guy that, as far as Stiles is aware, has zero reason to be looking for him or to even know Stiles name. Because  _ Stiles _ is not a celebrity on campus.  _ Derek Hale _ , however, is another story. He looks a bit frantic, and stupidly gorgeous and 100% earnest when he says. “I was looking for you everywhere. We need you for the game in the back. Did you forget? It's your turn to master.”

 

Ohh. So future literature professors who study classical drama can also act very well apparently. Stiles catches on. He's spent enough time lying to his dad and Scott's mum, it's a bit shameful how the deception rolls off his tongue. He slaps Derek's arm like they're casual buddies (damn, how much time does a lit and art history double have left to work out? A lot apparently.). “Oh, shit, dude! I forgot!”

 

And with that, he hops off his chair, abandoning Jerkface to his outraged sputtering. Holding in his laughter, he actually follows Derek to the backroom. No sooner has the door closed on them, are they looking at each other and cracking up. “Oh my god. The game in the back! With whom??” Stiles splitters through his tears. 

 

“I'm sorry. I know you could have handled that guy on your own but…”

 

Laughter subsiding, Stiles tilts his head. “But?”

 

“It's always good not to have to.”

 

Stiles grins. “Good answer. Thanks, dude.”

 

Derek nods. He looks… So out of place, in his stupid sweater that's hugging his physique to perfection and ridiculous slacks. In a bar. Who wears  _ slacks _ in a  _ bar.  _ But then again, it's game night. And Derek looks like the stereotypical nerd…. right out your stereotypical gay porn flick.

 

Which he is. Gay, that is. One would have to be  _ very green  _ on campus not to know that. 

 

Not really knowing what to say, Stiles starts to turn away, pondering if it would be of very poor taste to offer to buy Derek a drink for his rescue. He fathoms that if he doesn't insist too much it'd be fine. But somehow he fears that he might turn out a disappointment for Derek. So he just leaves it at that. Now he has a reason to say hi when he passes the hottest guy on campus in a hallway. 

 

“Hey. Before you go…” Derek calls. Stiles looks back. 

 

“Yeah ?”

 

Derek looks slightly embarrassed. “So. Isaac actually sent me here for a reason. Um… He wants multifaceted die. Said there's a box here somewhere?”

 

Stiles chuckles. “A yes. It's hard to spot to the non initiate. Although, did he say  _ box _ ? That's kind of cute.”

 

Derek watches him as he crosses the room back towards him. “Cute?” he follows him towards the amount of shelving packed to the ceiling with boxes of games, random pieces of equipment, fabric, and CDs. 

 

Stiles drops to his knees, and drags a suitcase from in front of the shelves, revealing a cardboard box jammed under the lower shelf. It's about a forearm’s length in depth and is wider than Stiles’ shoulders. He grunts as he maneuvers so that he'll apply his force correctly to retrieve the worn container without tearing it apart. He grins up at Derek over his shoulder. “ _ Box _ and  _ die _ imply something relatively small, right? You wouldn't automatically look for something I could fit in, would you?”

 

Derek concedes, approaching to peer inside at the slightly terrifying amount of die. “I don't think you'd actually fit in there, though. ” Stiles throws him a look. “.... you have,” Derek realises.

 

Stiles grins. “How do you think it got so fucked up?” He shrugs comfortably. “Lahey bet me  _ food _ , Derek.  _ Curly fries.  _ No brainer.”

 

Derek shoots him an oddly surprised look. Eventually it falls off his face and he smiles. “I suppose that makes some kind of sense.”

 

“Isaac is leading Masquerade, right?” Stiles asks, arms elbow deep in die. Derek makes a noise of confirmation. “He'll probably want sixes and eights. Here.” He picks out a few, selecting or rejecting them depending on personal preference - also, Isaac  _ hates _ pink, so that explains why he gets five different shades of it (the hot fuchsia with sparkles is Stiles’ favourite), and places the lot in Derek's cupped hands. They're pretty large, those paws, he registers absently. 

 

“Thanks. Probably saved me an hour or two.”

 

“Welcome, man. Anything for a good game.” Stiles salutes as Derek retreats. “Hey, Derek?” he turns back with that strange expression again. “You should come back.” He looks confused, as to what Stiles means. Then something weird happens. His face falls. Like Stiles made him sad. “I mean. I'm gonna have to hang out here for a while hosting this fictional game of yours. I have a book on my phone. So I'm good. But I wouldn't mind the company.”

 

Derek looks down. “You know my name. ….You know who I am.”

 

Stiles blinks confusedly for a moment. Yes? Why is that making Derek look so sad Stiles wants to reach over and poke his cheeks until the smile comes back. He's a campus legend for many reaso- oh… “That's not why I'd like you to come back.”

 

Derek's eyes narrow, very faintly. Like he's too tired of people to truly even attempt to express disbelief. 

 

“Honest, dude. You just helped me out. You're at the same game night as me. Figure we have more in common than I thought. Would be nice chatting with you.” He holds his hands up. “No hard feelings if you don't wanna.”

 

”Okay.” Derek nods and leaves. Stiles is happy to leave it at that. At least he got rid of the frown on the guy's face. 

 

See. To Stiles and many more like him, Derek is a Big Deal. Though he started two years before Stiles in this university, he's now only one year ahead. In his first year, the guy he was seeing filmed them while they were having sexy and out came tumbling golden boy Derek Hale out of the closet. It caused such a fuss on campus that his boyfriend got expelled and Derek suspended. 

 

That was without counting Talia Hale, attorney at law and all together HBIC. Not only did she have Derek’s suspension expunged from his permanent record, but she had the university re-enroll Derek for another year without any additional fees. She made the school issue an apology and made the douche bag responsible for Derek's humiliation sign up for five thousand hours of community service in exchange for keeping a clean criminal record. 

 

Since then, given that there was no way Derek could escape his dubious fame, he's been on the board of the lgbt+ league on campus and founded Watch Yourself, an organisation aimed at educating about the risks and damage of making a sex tape, about consent and revenge porn. Stiles has seen fliers and posters in various places on campus and around town that aim to make people think of what they're doing before they shake an image of themselves, and, more importantly, of others whether be it with their consent or not. It's the online version of check yourself before you wreck yourself (and others). They also made available to whoever came by cardboard coasters for your red solo cups or drinks in clubs that are trained with a solution that will react to most common date rape drugs. 

 

Derek Hale is not only an inspiration for having refused to duck his head and change school, but also a fucking rock star in Stiles book. 

 

However… 

 

He should have thought of what this sadly implies before he casually invited Derek to join him in the back earlier. Because the world is made of humans and many of them are assholes, he's sure Derek has been confronted with plenty a creep that only sought him our because they'd seen his sex tape, assumed he was easy or thought he'd make a famous notch on their bedpost. Stiles feels dirty just at the idea of possibly coming across like one of them.

 

He settles down on a pile of tablecloths, his back against a crumbling box of cookbooks. This is actually a nice reprieve. Even without the addition of Jerkface outside, he doesn't really feel like going back out right now. He has the noise and the animation and life, albeit muted, but it's quieter here. He could use a break. The only potential issue is to not let himself become drowsy and then having to wrench himself up for a self inflicted horrendous journey back to his dorm. 

 

The last person he expects to see when door creaks open is Derek. But there he is, coming back. Carrying a couple of Fantas and a basket of something that smells deep fried and heavenly. “Hey. Isaac said you'd like cajun spice nuggets and sweet potato fries. But he was smirking so I dunno if he was telling the truth or not.”

 

“Are you kidding?? Gimme!” Stiles makes grabby hands at the food. Derek laughs and comes over. “You just the delivery guy or are you staying?” He sees Derek eye the spot next to Stiles in consideration. That settles it, he pats the cloth with authority. “Sit.” He places the basket between them. “Eat. Drink. Be merry. However that goes.”

 

“Thanks.” Derek leans his weight down on one hand in the middle of the pile, pivots and drops in his spot with a satisfied grunt to rival Stiles’ earlier one.

 

Stiles bites off half a spicy nugget and munches happily. He grabs the soda next. “You got me a drink,” he states as he finishes taking a pull from said bottle. 

 

Wary, Derek nods. “The same thing you had before. Is that okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he reassures quickly. “You did pay for it though.” 

 

Derek stuffs a bunch of fries into himself like he's trying to gag himself. Once he's regained enough composure to attempt his lie, he speaks. “You hosted a game tonight. You eat and drink for free.”

 

Hm.  _ That's  _ why Isaac was smirking. “Nice try. Unless Danny's cousin gave you a freebee on my behalf, which I doubt because he doesn't like me, I've already used up my free drinks three hours ago.” He nudges the basket towards Derek once more. “Thank you.”

 

“You're welcome.” Derek munches on a nugget, making a surprised and pleased noise. His eyebrows rise up and he looks downright adorable. “So. Fanta.” Derek says eventually. “You don't drink?”

 

“I do. Just. Not when I have to get up and be productive the next day. I'm a walking slippery slope.”

 

And from there, it's surprisingly easy to talk with Derek. Stiles tells stories of wild nights with Scott, one of which ended up with Stiles waking up on top of a shelf in the law library and having to scramble down very quickly to find a bin to throw up into. Which leads to Derek telling him about law majors that sometimes camp there for days before finals or during hard cases and their secret stashes of food. They continue discussing their majors and why they picked them. Then favourite books because of Derek's studies, which leads to movies and music. Soon, the bottles are empty, the food is gone and Stiles is making an offhanded comment about Derek's capacity to recover from shit life threw at him. 

 

Derek's expression grows tired and resigned. Stiles thinks it's a fair reaction, considering. Anyone new Derek talked to, he would have to address the elephant in the room eventually. It had to get old real fast. “Ah. So, you've seen the video,” Derek says. 

 

“I haven't actually.” Derek meets his eyes in surprise, then a flicker of suspicion passes through them. Like he’s wondering if he pegged Stiles wrong when he assumed he'd be honest about his answer. Before more doubts settle in, Stiles carries on. “If I want to see videos of naked men I know where to find some whose stars gave their consent both to be filmed and to have it shared.” He looks Derek right in the eye, knowing he probably would hate pity but he can't not express sympathy. “What this guy did to you is revolting. On a  _ if I think about it too long my insides are going to revolt and I'll feel like throwing up _ level. I'm sorry it happens to anyone. I'm glad that it seems it didn't destroy you completely. And that some good and strength came out of it.”

 

Derek stares at him for a long while. “You're not even curious?”

 

“Of course I am! Have you seen you?” Stiles says honestly. “But also. No. Not like that. Never.” He shrugs. There's a moment of silence. “Also. Yes. I did hear of you and the sex tape pretty early on when I arrived on campus. And I also heard your name and Erica's around Watch Yourself. Which I think is so important. And the lgbt+ league. And it took a while for me to realise that both these people I'd heard about were one and the same.” He smiles at Derek's unreadable expression. “You're known for different things to different people.”

 

For a long time, it seems like Derek can't find what to say. He looks like he's about to speak several times, but then he doesn't. Eventually, he just says “Thanks.”

 

Stiles can't detangle all the emotions that swirl inside him. How sad it makes him that Derek would feel like thanking him for being a decent person. Or perhaps he's thanking him for his words. How angry he still is and how glad he is the kid isn't at school anymore because his dad would be pissed if he was found one day hanging from a flag pole, hooked to a car battery and begging to be let down. Though considering how protective the Sheriff is, he knows he'd mostly be annoyed because he'd know Stiles was the culprit and his principles would prevent him to turn a blind eye; not actually that a douchebag got what he deserved. He's kind of amazed too, at Derek's ability to speak of it plainly, and to have lead all these successful campaigns alongside his studies. He remembers thinking, last term, how the Watch Yourself campaigns that happened during the post final celebrations had to have been planned and set up pre and during finals. Pre and during finals, Stiles runs on Adderrall and coffee. Studying and sleeping enough take so much of his mental energy that it's a mystery how he makes it through the week. Actually no, it's not. It's thanks to Scott, who, regularly, will force Stiles into a standstill, and feed him. And notify him when  _ he really needs to shower now, bro _ . In other words previously used, Derek Hale is a Badass. 

 

… who called him by name. “Hey, so. How did you know who  _ I _ was?” Wait. Isaac and Derek are friends. Even if Isaac was originally Scott's buddy and didn't really like Stiles all that much, they became friends through the game nights organisation. Though it is very weird imagining Isaac talking about him, it would make sense that it’s the way Derek heard his name. 

 

Derek makes a startled face at him. “Are you…?” He blinks, chuckles and looks away. “Stiles Stilinski asking me how I know who  _ the Stiles Stilinski  _ is.”

 

Stiles stares dumbly. Um… What now?

 

“Stiles, you're a celebrity on campus. Sort of. Everyone knows you. You and this…” he waggles his hand towards the door leading to the outside. Which-... “crew. You reinvented nightlife for students. You gave people an option for a place to go out that didn't involve planning to get hammered and try to hook up. A place where you could go alone and be yanked around a table and given a deck of cards or a character to play, rather than nursing a drink at a club being laughed at for being friendless. Or harassed by everyone because you look cute and therefore you're a free for all. You guys made RPGs cool again. That's… you're  _ legends _ .” Derek almost laughs at Stiles shocked face. He leans forward and affects a fake conspiratory tone. “And, once, I met Lydia Martin while she was tipsy and maudlin and she said you're smarter than her.”

 

Stiles bursts out laughing. “That's impossible!”

 

“She would say so, yes, I imagine.”

 

Stiles chuckles, embarrassed, and runs a hand through his hair. He has a legacy on campus. What the hell. Derek is grinning at him, Stiles finds himself staring back, a little fascinated. Time stretches a little. Then the same thing pulls the attention of his stupid brain again. “Hey, do you hear…. that?”

 

Derek blinks, searches his face. He frowns faintly. “I don't hear anything.”

 

Stiles nods slowly. “Yeah.  _ That. _ ”

 

It's visible the moment it clicks, he and Derek look away from each other and to the door. No more muffled loud conversations, no more bass thumping through the walls. Chairs scraping. Nothing. “Where did everybody go?”

 

Stiles pushes up to his feet, cracks open the door. Then he lets it swing open wide. The bar is empty. “What time is it?”

 

Derek makes a small noise of surprise when he looks down at his phone. He's walked up behind Stiles. “Almost three.” He looks at the other room. “Huh.”

 

They walk in. All the game supplies have been piled up on a table cheekily placed by the door to the backroom. These fuckers deliberately didn't put anything away to avoid alerting them. 

 

There's a note on the bar, next two another two bottles of Fanta that have long since stopped sweating. ‘ _ for when you come up for air’  _ it reads. Stiles snorts, face hot. “Dicks.”

 

Stiles hops behind the bar and puts the Fanta away. He grabs a Bud instead. Looks over at Derek. “Want one?” Derek is looking down at the note. Blushing a violent pink. Aw. 

 

Eventually, he gets a head shake. 

 

Stiles drinks his beer while they put the games away properly. He  _ should  _ just leave them just because his friends aren't funny, but there is no reason to punish the person that opens the bar tomorrow for that. He sets off to do it alone but Derek insists on helping. It does go heaps faster this way. When they're done, Stiles throws his beer out and grabs the keys by the cash register and leads Derek out. He plans a vindictive colourful text to the Thursdays group chat in his head all the while. 

 

He locks the door, brings the iron curtain down and secures that too. He chucks the keys in the mailbox for Danny to retrieve, and turns towards Derek with his mouth open to speak. But he finds he doesn't know what to say. Derek is right there in front of him, looking back, and Stiles suddenly feels self conscious as fuck. He's awkward at parting, especially with people he just met. And what he wants is…  _ not  _ to part. He wants to find something to make this last longer. To keep on chatting like they were. Because that was going so well, and it was so easy, and he got to have this moment with  _ Derek Fucking Hale _ and this isn't the kind of thing that happens twice. So, if it could last a bit longer… 

 

“Hey, Stiles?” It's what you'd call out to someone in the distance, except Derek speaks softly, because Stiles is right in front of him, already giving him all of his attention. “I had a good time tonight.” Oh. He did? He did! That's good. That's great. Awesome. “I was wondering… if you liked that too and wanted a repeat sometime… maybe I could have your number?”

 

This is like. Not  _ let's be friends and hang out,  _ right? This is like,  _ hey, can I call you some time because we kinda stared at each other's lips earlier and I'd like to see where that goes,  _ right? 

 

Right?! 

 

Stiles’ face feels hot. “You… yeah?”

 

Derek is a bit pink too, especially his ears - god that's adorable. His head is tilted to the side and he's grinning a bit. He seems to read that Stiles is quite pleased with the idea. “Yeah.”

 

“Yeah.  _ Yeah.  _ Definitely. You can  _ so  _ have my number.” Stiles nods vigorously and pats his jacket. There's a bit of fumbling phones out of pockets, and when they swap, their fingers brush and Stiles feels like a high schooler for how much he likes  _ that _ . 

 

When he starts typing his information in, something very curious happens. “Um…” Derek looks up. Stiles lets out a nervous, confused chuckle. “… so it seems my number is already on your phone.”

 

Derek gapes. “ _ What? _ ”

 

Stiles stares down. He reads, stunned. “Under  _ Hot Guy From Rush Week _ .”

 

“Oh my god.” Derek has a hand on his forehead, eyes wide, and he's giggling. “So, it  _ was _ you.”

 

_ Huh?! _

 

“I thought maybe, but…”

 

Nothing makes sense anymore. Stiles conveys this much in the most articulate way. “What the fuck? Who? When? How??”

 

Derek's next laugh is a bit hysterical.  “You went to a bash dressed as a blue devil, yeah?”

 

_ Dressed.  _ More like wearing speedos and covered in paint. “I sure remember going. Not much of what happened after ten pm, though.”

 

“That makes sense. You were a mess.” Derek chuckles. 

 

Stiles boggles. Derek met him then. He has his number. “We… you…?” he gestures vaguely between them, conveying....  _ what the fuck happened? _

 

“We just talked.” Derek explains. “I was with friends and you came and chatted with us and… and you wanted to kiss me but…” he shrugs. “well, first of all, you were a smurf-...”

 

“Excuse you!” Stiles cuts him off, mock offended.

 

“See!” Derek points at him. “It's stuff like that! Sometimes, I really thought it was you. But the face paint, it really fucked with placing your features… I couldn’t-...” He smiles and looks down at his phone. “Anyway. It wouldn't have gone far. You were smashed and I wasn't all that sober, either. I said as much. And you gave me your number instead.”

 

A beat. Stiles shifts feet, sobered. “And you never used it.”

 

“No.” Derek frowns. “... I woke up with the hangover from hell. And I honestly thought I hallucinated you. Then when I realised I hadn't, I figured you wouldn't remember…” He shrugs. There's no need to point out he was right. “Felt awkward.”

 

Stiles reels. “Well  _ fuck. _ ” He chuckles. “I guess I'm your type, huh? If it worked on you twice.”

 

Derek snorts, looks away. He's visibly trying to contain a blush and a smile. “Dunno. Maybe I'm easy.”

 

Stiles laughs. “Derek Hale easy. Sure. Nah, admit it, dude. I'm just that cute.”

 

Derek looks back at him, grinning. “Guess you are.”

 

Stiles smiles back, full of wonder. So. Derek Hale, huh. Seems like they're actually both into each other. And that it's no new development, even. 

 

Derek. Fucking. Hale. 

 

Who is, turns out, an urban fantasy nerd, a total sweetheart with deadpan humor, a family man not ashamed to look wistful at the idea of having one of his own, a fierce mofo willing to stand up  _ before  _ crimes destroy lives. And somehow, he seems charmed enough by Stiles’ collection of quirks to want to see him again. As in date-like seeing him again. 

 

Score. 

 

He tilts his head. “So if since now you have my number  _ and _ my name attached to it… Will you put your money where your mouth is this time?” He pauses, and makes a face. “Don't do that. That's not sanitary.”

 

Derek chuckles. “Will you remember tonight?” They both know he will. He's had all of one beer. 

 

“Yes.” Stiles stares him down. “And the memory of it will be spoiled and bitter if you never call,” he threatens. 

 

“I will,” Derek promises, and steps closer. “If I promise there has been no money anywhere near it…. Can I put my mouth where your mouth is? I've kinda been wanting to do that since your freshman year.”

 

Unbelievable. Stiles smiles, and nods. “Yeah. I think you really should.”

 

So Derek does.

 


End file.
